


Pretty's not the word I'm looking for

by Roshwen



Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Just a fluffy little piece in the face of all the drama this season, Kissing, M/M, Smut, Tag to S04E09: And the town called Feud
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 16:20:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13438596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roshwen/pseuds/Roshwen
Summary: ‘I needed to talk to you,’ Jake says, voice low and rough in a way that does not make Ezekiel shiver, no sir, not him. ‘About you thinkin’ you’re so much prettier than me.’





	Pretty's not the word I'm looking for

**Author's Note:**

> Another post-ep fic to bring some fluff into the drama. This was literally written in two hours, so please don't judge me too harshly.

‘Jones, I got a bone to pick with you.’

The dark look in Jake’s eyes tells Ezekiel exactly what he meant, which is why he gets out of his chair and follows Jake into the hallway _fast. Bone to pick. Good one, cowboy, I’m going to remember that one._

Through some kind of heroic effort, though, he manages to keep his hands to himself until they are together in their private corner of the Library, the dim light turning everything into a background full of shadows. Everything, except the hands that grip him tight, turn him around and pin him to the bookshelf while Ezekiel’s own hands go up around Jake’s neck and into his hair, pulling him close as Jake’s mouth finds his in a burning kiss. Everything falls away when there are roving hands, breathy hums and demanding mouths, all wrapped up in an intoxicating mix of what Ezekiel secretly calls _eau de Stone:_ coffee, cheap cologne and the musty smell of very old books.

For several minutes, there is nothing but the two of them getting lost in each other after two long days that had been emotionally grueling, even for them. Jake’s hands are wandering, warm and reassuring over Ezekiel’s back while Ezekiel presses up against Jake, holding on tight because cowboy needs to come _closer._

And _closer_ Jake comes, until there are books digging in Ezekiel’s back and Jake has to move his hands to Ezekiel’s chest before they get squashed, _closer_ until neither of them can tell anymore where one of them stops and the other begins.

Then Jake draws back a little, allowing Ezekiel to take a much needed deep breath. Before he can dive back in again, however, or even leave Jake’s mouth for what it is and make a start on the man’s neck, Jake’s hand is on his cheek and there is a dangerous glimmer in the cowboy’s eye that has a _very_ interesting effect on the direction where Ezekiel’s blood is going. ‘I needed to talk to you,’ Jake says, voice low and rough in a way that does _not_ make Ezekiel shiver, no sir, not him. ‘About you thinkin’ you’re _so much_ prettier than me.’

It takes Ezekiel a minute to formulate a proper reply to that. Not only because _god_ Jake’s voice has him weak in the knees, but also because Jacob Stone? Is _not_ a man he’d call pretty. Because calling Jacob Stone pretty is like calling a prowling tiger pretty. It's not  _wrong,_ per se, but it's not the full truth either. Plus, if you called Jacob Stone pretty, you’d miss out on the opportunity to use a quite lot of other words. Like _hot._ And _strong._ And _growly._

 _Not_ that Ezekiel would ever tell Jake that. Instead he grins, that full-on self-satisfied smirk which he _knows_ drives Jake up the wall every damn time. Using one hand to gently remove Jake’s hand from his cheek and place it low on his hip, Ezekiel cups Jake’s head with his other hand and pulls him forward, until Jake’s ear is level with Ezekiel’s mouth. ‘Tell you what, cowboy,’ he murmurs, running his fingers down Jake’s spine and oh, look at that: now _Jake_ is the one suppressing a shiver, ‘why don’t we go home and you can show me exactly how pretty you can be.’

Judging by the speed with which they exit the Library and make it home, Jake is fully on board with that idea.

\--- 

Later, much later, so late that it’s practically early morning again, Ezekiel has to admit he was wrong before. This is not something he does often, but then again: the sight of Jacob Stone writhing underneath him, the soft glow of the night light playing over his naked skin and catching in his hair, back arched and muscles strung taut with tension as Ezekiel thrust into him, putting everything he had into turning Jake’s magnificent brain into goo until Jake’s cursing turned into moaning turned into one last cry of Ezekiel’s name that took Ezekiel right over the edge with him… that sight had been very pretty indeed.

\--- 

Unfortunately, that does _not_ mean he can now start calling Jake ‘pretty boy’. As Ezekiel finds out the next morning, when he tries it and finds himself face to face with a prowling tiger again.

The tiger pounces. Ezekiel doesn’t mind being the prey this time.


End file.
